To Make Him Smile
by ELF Commando
Summary: It's Ree's 2nd Taikaido tournament & nothing is going right 4 her: her Master calls her his masseuse, she has to fight a black belt galactic champion, & Jacen refuses to be her coach because he wants to compete, too. Will Adriaan emerge victorious?
1. Prologue

**This is the second story I wrote based on a real life occurrence. For explanations of martial arts terms, see the introduction to _Worthy. _Reviews and any other form of support are appreciated. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Star Wars, _and all characters in this story are based on real life people. You wouldn't know any of these people, except for the one Adriaan is based on :) If you are confused about anything (the fight scene can get pretty technical) feel free to PM me. I'll be happy to explain! **

**Notes**

**Form – a form is a routine composed of kicks, hand techniques, footwork, etc.**

**Slaughter rule - if a fighter is beating his/her opponent by a margin of 7 points, the ref ends the match by mercy rule.**

**Staging - dividing the competitors according to age, rank, gender, and weight.**

**Kaiyaih - martial arts yell.**

**Double-gold boy/girl - someone who won in both their forms and sparring division at the same tournament.**

* * *

I don't have a father. I never needed one. Jacen is a pain enough as it is. Everyone says we are a well-suited Master/Padawan team, but I still have no idea what prompted my Master to pick me. He never paid any special attention to me when I was a youngling; in fact, he was always saying how much I stunk. "Why did the Force waste all this talent on a person like _you?_" is probably the most consistent phrase he uses with me. I don't know if he knows just how much it hurts whenever he says that, but whenever he does, I don't sleep at all that night, employing my time instead by killing myself with sparring drills. If Jacen knew I get up at night and practice, he'd still probably say it wasn't enough, that I was still his lazy little masseuse.

I have a variety of nicknames, not all of them flattering. I like "Rubber-band girl" because people refer to my incredible flexibility when they call me that. Some call me a "darkling" because of my dark side tendencies…whatever that means. I asked Jacen once, and he said it meant I don't work hard enough. Others call me a "stalker" because one of my favorite things to do is creep people out in the hallways by jumping out at them when they round the corner. No one believes me whenever I say I learned that prank from my Master. They're all fooled by that angelic smile – crowned by his enviably perfect teeth – he constantly wears on his face.

My Master calls me his "38 BBY brat" because apparently all children born in that year "Think they can get whatever they want by beating people up" but lately, I've been called his masseuse because one time he took all my clean clothes out of my room and hid them, so I took all _his _clean clothes and sold them to a thrift store dealer, and Jacen found out who was responsible – because I'm the only living person who dares to pull a prank on him – so he found me in a classroom sitting at the teacher's desk and told me to give him back his belongings. I refused pointblank, so he sat on my lap and said, "Won't the Jedi Masters find it strange and _unorthodox_ to find the two of us like this?" so I spent the next hour kicking him in the back, trying to get him off of me. Finally, he told me where he hid my clothes, and I confessed I sold his, and gave him the money to buy it all back. He promptly rose and left the room, saying, "I win."

"How so? I get my clothes, you get yours; it's a draw," I shot back.

"Nah, because I get to brag to my friends that this all-muscle chick gave me this great massage with her feet, her elbows, her shins –" he paused subtly as I grabbed him by his necklace and pulled back. "– she even _choked _me. Aw man, they're gonna be _so _jealous."

"What friends?" I retorted, chucking the teacher's stylus at him, which he deflected superciliously as he ran out the door, laughing like a monkey lizard.

I received a text message from him later in the day. _"I just signed us up for a Taikaido tournament on Corellia. Don't worry about paying for your cruiser line ticket; I just bought a suitcase that's big enough to stuff you in, you being the rubber-band girl that you are, and if anyone on the cruiser asks what's in my luggage I'll just say, 'Oh, that's just my masseuse; I bring her along to every tournament.'"_

I texted back: _"I heard Senator Slik Vel's masseuse murdered him last week by suffocating him in a sauna towel."_

He tactfully did not reply, though the incident was brought up again as we boarded the cruiser line, and Jacen caught sight of one of the Taikaido competitors seated inside, who waved over for us to join him. As we sat down in the row behind him, the man turned and gave Jacen a big high-five. "Gonna get a gold medal this time!" the man said jovially.

"Yeah, because they moved you to the female division," Jacen shot back. The man laughed amiably, then caught sight of me.

"Ah, is this the all-muscle masseuse you were talking about earlier this week?" he asked innocently.

Two seconds later, he was on the ground with his hands pinned behind his back and my whole weight on top of him. Security droids rushed up, alarms blaring, the passengers in the cruiser screaming in terror, but loudest of all was my Master, who threw back his head and simply roared with laughter.

To Jacen's credit, he did explain the matter to the security guards before they dragged me away to a detention cell. The constabulary released me, and I in turn released my victim, who went to the back of the cruiser, rubbing his arms and muttering Huttese curses under his breath. I sat down, my face burning, and helplessly tried to ignore my Master's wicked smirk.

"Hilarious," he whispered. I glared and hit him, which he blocked in that annoyingly patronizing way of his. He raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Now, Ree, you have to learn to control yourself. Don't want the security guards to come back here, do you?"

I didn't. I stuck my music player earphones into my ears and turned the volume up to the highest setting. Then I tried without success to relax and enjoy the flight within such close proximity to Jacen Palgwebb, who is quite possibly the most immature Jedi Knight in the universe.

I couldn't ask for a better Master.


	2. The Fight

✶ Coronet City, Corellia, 25 BBY ✶

It was the second Taikaido tournament I attended. Jacen, the precious "double-gold" boy, signed up for it, too, just for kicks. That worried me just slightly; it wasn't because I was afraid of fighting him, because there was small chance of that: competitors were divided up according to age, rank, gender, and weight, and I had none in common with my Master. The problem I had with him competing was that there was a good chance he wouldn't be available to coach me during my match; adult staging occurred around the time the teenage females were fighting. But it was no use bringing this up to Jacen; his mind was set, and he was going to compete.

We both placed gold in forms. This time, I moved like the wind and kiyaihed so vociferously Jacen heard me all the way from staging. After I was given my first gold medal, I went over to the ring to watch my Master's form.

His martial arts routine was drop-dead gorgeous, as usual. He moved with the grace of a cat and the ferocity of a wolf, looking like some lithe predator performing a war dance. He spun with ease, kicked the heavens in defiance, as if to say, "You are not too high for _me!" _and punched as if the air was a giant Phlog standing in his way. But it was more than his perfect technique, ease of movement, and strength of execution that made him beautiful; what drew people's attention most was the fierce, determined, feral snarl transfixed on his smooth features; the bright, fey light of his eyes. His very face proclaimed, "I came here to win and if you get in my way I hope you have health insurance." The tenacity of his expression lent a certain unique character to his form, set it apart from the flawless yet lackluster performances of his peers. The very essence of him was transparent in even the rhythmic breaths he took.

He was unsurprised when he was announced the winner. I wasn't astonished, either; from the moment he had walked onto the floor he had had the air of a champion. But what did surprise me was how little he seemed to care when the medal was hung over his neck. He didn't seem to notice it was there. As for me, I could feel the lump of yellow metal pressing against my heart like a flame which ignited my being. I wanted to jump and holler and scream with joy, but most of all, I wanted Jacen to see it adorning my throat. But if I had been expecting a big, silly, proud grin to envelop my Master's features as he beheld me, I was to be sorely disappointed. He congratulated me, of course, though in an absent-minded sort of way. He was getting his gears set for his sparring match.

"I saw your form," I said as he turned to get his music speakers. He always listened to a special playlist before every match, to get him into his game. Even Jacen had a security blanket. "It was real good." I felt stupid saying it, but I couldn't possibly put into words my awe of his performance.

He surprised and delighted me by taking my hand and squeezing it tight as he placed his other palm over his heart in thanks. "Thank you," he said, nodding his head in a brief bow. I tried not to have a heart attack. As his head dropped, his hand grazed his medal, and he seemed to realize it was there. Without further ado he ripped it off and threw it at me. "Hey, put this in my bag and get me my music player, will you? I have to coach some of the nine-year-old competitors before staging."

I clutched the award in my hand, a little perplexed by his indifference to it. "Um, sure," I said. I paused hesitantly, then blurted. "You're still being my coach for my match, right?"

He straightened and exhaled, running a hand across his cleanly shaven head. He was fussy about his hair, even though there wasn't much of it to be fussy about. He cut it every night. I once watched him shave, and it had taken him all of ten seconds. "Kid, I'll be running all over the ring, and my division will probably stage around the time you'll be on the floor. So we'll have to see."

Disappointment crushed me like an axe kick plunging down on my head. "But you _promised!_" I started. He put his hand over my mouth, silencing my protest.

"Look, you're a big girl and don't need me babysitting you the entire time. There's tons of coaches out there; if I'm not staging when you're going, I'll coach you. If not, there's plenty of experienced Taikaido fighters out there who will be available to tutor you."

I opened my mouth to tell him that I knew that, but I had a security blanket too, and it was him; it wouldn't be the same without him screaming at me from the ring boundaries to throw such-and-such combo. But Jacen turned away before I could squeeze more than another syllable in. Irked, I slipped my hand out of his, my palm burning from the brand of his sweat, and we turned simultaneously as we went our separate ways.

As I stuffed his medal into his bag and dug around for his music player, it suddenly hit me why he didn't care about the medal. He had won Galactic so many times – he had been the double gold boy for so many consecutive years – one more shiny trophy was just another dim little star in the crowded heavens. It hit me for a moment as I watched the poor dejected souls he had beaten pass by that it was rather selfish of him to begrudge an award others so dearly aspired for. If he didn't care, why compete and withhold the prize from others? Jacen had had a stellar career in the ring; why couldn't he just retire and be my coach, and give others the chance to experience having the gold medal placed around their necks at Galactics?

I took his stuff back to him, which he accepted without a word of thanks, and by the time we silently parted, the speakers announced it was staging for the welterweight teenage female division. Yes, though I looked like a mere slip of a girl, I was heavy for my age. It was due to the six-pack rack and long, lean legs and arms Jacen insisted I develop. I really was an all-muscle chick. As I warmed up, I kept an eye on the other competitors, scouting out the competition and careful to make sure no one was observing me and trying to figure out my moves before the match. It looked like I was the lowest-ranked competitor…again. I groaned, wishing I was a bit older or a bit lighter, so I wouldn't have to fight these arena monsters. But Jacen said it was good for me to fight higher-ranked opponents, so I had no choice.

Half an hour later, my name was called. My competitor was much like the girl I had lost to in my first tournament; she was taller than I was, a bit older, and a black belt. Things weren't looking too good, but I hid my nervousness by appearing amiable, chitchatting with my opponent as we waited for the ring to open. She seemed nice enough…but she could be a different person entirely in the ring. She asked me if she had fought me last year in Galactics, but I controlled my panic well and offhandedly replied this was my second tournament. I tried to ignore the smug expression on her face as we were led to the ring. She already thought the fight was in the bag.

And it _was _in the bag. We both knew it from the start. But fate haphazardly twists things in cruel and unexpected ways, and this was one of those random incidents where fate took a hand in making sure the match didn't go as expected.

Jacen was nowhere to be seen. As my adversary held a conference with her own coach, I anxiously scanned the area._ The nerfherder must have gone to staging, _I thought. Desperate, I grabbed a coach I knew, a man of Corellian descent called Xilf, and asked him where my Master was.

"He's gone to staging," he confirmed. I desperately asked if my mentor had left any encouraging message for his sweet little Padawan, only to be crushed by the negative reply. But I really shouldn't have been so disappointed; Jacen had told me from the very start of my Apprenticeship that he was not the type of Master who flattered and built up the ego of his student.

Boy, was I ticked. _The point of this tournament was to make _me _the better fighter! _I fumed. The refs on our ring were getting ready. I couldn't wait for Jacen to show up. "Will you be my coach?" I asked Xilf in a rush. Thankfully, none of his students required his attention at the moment, so he readily agreed.

It was quite possibly the best choice I had ever made.

Xilf scrutinized my opponent for a moment or two, then told me to sit down. He crouched down beside me as he tied a red ribbon, which was used to indicate that I was the red fighter, to my helmet. "I've seen her fight," he said at last. "The ring is second home to her. She's got the same junk as you do; she can throw any sort of kick to your head. Flamingo fighter; straight line combos. She likes to play king of the ring."

I nodded. She sounded a lot like the last girl I had fought.

"So, instead of using your regular style, I want you to switch," he said, watching my face intently, trying to gauge my reaction to his unorthodox plan.

"Yes, sir," I replied calmly, though I was beginning to feel worried. Use an unfamiliar style on an almost black belt? Not the best strategy. But Xilf was a veteran Taikaido sparrer, so I listened.

"Let her think you're afraid. Move back when she starts kicking, use your angles to get away, and stick her with a push or side kick. When I say 'go!' start punching like crazy. _Do not stop_ until they call the point. Understand?"

I understood, all right, but I was very dubious. _There's no way this is going to work. _But he was my coach, the only one available, and this was the only advice given to me. Confident in his abilities, I nodded, hoping I wouldn't let him down.

The center judge called us to the mat. Xilf clapped me on the helmet and said, "Okay, you've got this!" and I ran on. The girl finished talking to her coach and came in in a more leisurely manner. We bowed to each other, and the girl stood calmly while the judge checked to see that she had all the required gear on. She acted as if the match was already over and the award being hung around her neck. I thought of what Xilf told me to do and gulped.

_There's no way this'll work; she's a black belt, a Galactic champion. She won't fall for something so simple._

"Come on, what does it take to get you girls to smile? You'd think this was a funeral or something," the judge said jovially as he turned to check my gear. My opponent grinned like a shark, while my smile came out more as a grimace, which was grotesquely exaggerated by the mouth guard enveloping my teeth.

_Boy, there probably _will _be a funeral following this fight…_

_ "How many times do I freaking have to tell you? Stop paying attention to rank, because that's not the big picture! It's about busting your butt to kick theirs. Rank's got nothing to do with it!" _Jacen's voice was so clearly remembered I could almost hear him then. As the judge called for ready position and I stepped back, the adrenaline spiked, and I suddenly grinned. Jacen and I saw this tournament differently, I realized. He saw it as an opportunity for me to become an experienced fighter without needing him to help me on the way; that's why he had signed up to compete, so he'd have an excuse to let me handle the situation on my own. In contrast, I didn't care that Jacen wanted me to learn how to fight without him throwing verbal abuse at me; I had signed up for more than the experience, even the medal – on that count my Master and I were alike – no, the biggest reason I was doing this was to prove to Jacen that I was worthy of him, to demonstrate that all his brutal training and screaming himself hoarse at me had not been in vain.

So I _would _fight this black belt with a style I hadn't ever employed, but not to win. I just wanted to make him proud of me.

"Touch gloves and _Kiyaih_!" the ref called. We both touched gloves, but neither of us yelled; she because she didn't think I needed to be any more intimidated than I already was, and I because I knew that yelling would have no effect on her. She was already making a mistake by doing exactly what I had been doing a moment before: judging her opponent by rank.

She was going down.

"_Kiyaih_!" The ref made a cutting motion with his hand, indicating that the fight had started. The girl didn't wait; she came at me flamingo-like, shooting roundhouse kicks as regularly as a Hutt spewing slime, hopping on one foot all the while. So far, she was doing exactly as Xilf had predicted she would. I automatically backed up and angled out to the left, and immediately noticed why Xilf had told me to use the circle strategy. With all the weight on her back foot, my opponent wasn't as agile as I was – she was limited to straight-line combos. She switched feet and came at me once more, and again I circled and backed up, putting up my leg to let her know I meant business. She wasn't astonished; I was doing what she had predicted I would do. But her problem was that she didn't know the other half of my – Xilf's – strategy.

She came in close, and I stuck her with a power side kick. Xilf screamed, "GO! GO!" I saw how her hands went down to cover her chest guard, exposing her head. I backfisted her at exactly the right moment. She hopped away, bewilderment evident in her facial expression, and prepared to kick me in the head. But the ref called us to the center and announced, "Red, one point!" 1-0. A good start.

She tried again. I angled out to the right and whacked her in the head. "Judges' score!" the ref hollered. "Red – one point!" 2-0. A beatable margin. Again, the blue flamingo hopped toward me. I moved, faked a flamingo back at her. Her leg dropped, back foot moved over, and I knew she was setting up for a spin hook. A little leg adjustment, I jumped in at the "GO!" from Xilf, and caught her in mid-spin. Whack-whack-BREAK! 3-0 now. The girl threw an axe kick…too slow. I circled out and popped her in the face. 4-0. Xilf screamed, "YES! YES! GOOD GIRL!"

That's when I felt that I had a chance to take the title.

A quick low-to-high roundhouse kick and it was 5-0, and the first round was over. Xilf sat me down and stuck a water bottle nozzle into my mouth. I drank a little; I wasn't even winded. Xilf was very pleased. I expected him to have me change tactics for the second round – for surely the black belt or her coach had figured out my style by now – but he told me to do the same thing. He had proved his wisdom before; I would be stupid to betray him now. The judge called for second round, and Xilf pushed me on. Again, I was on the mat before she was. That was to be expected; the blue flamingo and her coach had a lot to talk about.

Two points till match was called by slaughter rule. My chances were looking pretty good. I imagined Jacen's face as I told him of my victory. This was for Jacen. The judge called us to ready; the noise – the unearthly screams of the fighters from the various rings around us, the unintelligible bawling of the crowd – faded out entirely. I was in my own world, my 100-square-meter world, a foam ten by ten mat with guards posted on each corner. The ref's hand motioned for round two to begin; my opponent, the intruder of my universe, moved in. I couldn't see her face; I was watching her machine-gun foot moving steadily toward me. Bouncing on my toes, I circled left…_Wait, Xilf is screaming to go right._ _Okay, just don't square up and give the girl a nice big target. _I shuffled over. I couldn't look at her face – all I could see was that tiny area in the chest guard opening up, creating the opportunity for me to strike. All I could think was, _Fierfek, she can't be so stupid. Why is she using the same technique? Didn't her coach see how I tanked her? _All this I wondered as she came in. I lifted my leg and sidehooked, following up with a double-punch. "You've got it!" coach yelled as I made contact three times before the ref pulled it up 6-0. "One more point, come on!" Xilf yelled as I circled again as the Galactic Champion played flamingo with me. _Kriff, is she stupid? One more point till slaughter rule and she's still pulling the same junk._ I dodged a backfist in the nick of time. _Come on, just finish it. For Xilf; for Jacen. You know in your heart just how much you want to make him smile, for you love his angelic smirk – you fall for it just like everyone else. Whatever you may say to his face, you cannot deny to yourself that the most beautiful gift you can ever ask for in life is the ability to make your Master grin. So do this; this is your chance to make Jacen smile._

The area in her chest guard was exposed again. _To make him smile._

The push kick hit her square in the chest. Noise shattered the glass dome of my world. "Break!" _Back to center; still can't see the girl's face. Stang, I'm not even breathing hard. It's over? Judge is telling us to bow – you know the drill; shake hands. _The words, "Good fight" rose to my lips, but I clamped them down, because it would be a cruel lie to say them aloud. For her, it hadn't been a good fight. There was nothing I could say that would make her feel better, because she hadn't even touched me. I went to shake her coach's hand, and I dimly heard his murmured thanks. Thanks for what? Slaughtering his competitor? I wondered what was going on inside that brain of his…if he had one. Then the judge called us in, and had us turn to the crowd, "Second!" he says, tapping my opponent. "First!" on mine. Screams erupted. The medal dragged at my neck. I raised my head, a grin beginning to break out. As the silver medal was dropped over my opponent, I heard a strangle cough, and, alerted, turned at the noise.

Then I noticed her face, the face I hadn't seen during the fight. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot, her expression screwed up in a grimace as two wet lines trickled from her eyes to her chin.

Fierfek, she was crying.

Suddenly I didn't feel so great anymore. I felt like a murderer, a slayer of dreams. I opened my mouth to tell her it was okay, people had bad days, it was all my coach's fault I was so awesome, but she had disappeared. I stared where she had been, then at the medal hanging round my neck. Double gold by slaughter rule.

Xilf was clapping me on the back, telling me how great I was. I grinned mutely and stammered out my eternal gratitude to him. I dearly hope he realized how thankful I was, for my victory wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been such a genius.

Victory by slaughter rule. A double-gold girl. _I made her cry…_

But I hadn't _wanted _to ruin her day! I almost screamed. She had ruined my joy. I should have been pleased; instead, I was shocked, and left feeling like a jerk. I began to regret fighting so well. Imagine regretting something like that! I began to replay the fight in my mind. Had she been crying _during _the match? The thought made me cringe. I should've been merciful. Reasoning said it wasn't my fault, she shouldn't take this so seriously, or maybe she had been crying because her coach had yelled at her. And perhaps she deserved to be yelled at. After the first point she should have figured out that flamingo wasn't going to work. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't responsible.

But the miserable feeling didn't go away.

Teammates came by dozens to congratulate me. I told them I was shocked, and they chided me for not being satisfied. I roamed about in a daze for a bit, searching for the girl, but after a few moments the fog cleared and the reassuring weight pulling on my neck reminded me of what I had to do.

I started for staging. As I walked out into the hall, a group of male black belts appeared, walking toward me. Near the end of the line, I glimpsed a familiar, lean young man jamming with his music player, oblivious to the universe as he mouthed the words to the song.

"Jacen!" I yelled, running up and dragging his arm like a little kid instead of the great big thirteen-year-old girl that I was. "Jacen!"

He stopped and pulled an earphone out of his ear. He immediately noticed the gold medal. "Hey," he said. He wasn't the congratulatory type.

Dismayed at his reaction, my feeling of empathy for my opponent was forgotten, and I blurted, "I won 7-0 to a black belt!"

His face was transformed. Though he didn't stop moving forward, his mouth stretched out into the widest, silliest, proudest grin I've ever seen. It made my heart stop, and it only began to beat again when he clapped me extra-hard on the back and punched his knuckles against mine. "Good job, girl," he hollered, then he was out the door, but I was fine with that, for he had smiled the way I had imagined and wanted him to, and I knew that was the best I could ever get out of him.

I went out onto the ring and sat right next to his mat, watching him warm up. I don't think he knew or cared that I was going to watch his match; he was in his own world. I let him stay there. Glimmik music blared from his earphones. I contemplated telling him to turn the music down before he seriously damaged his ears, but I had no need to; the glimmik abruptly stopped, switching to a thumping yet strangely melancholy pop. I recognized the tune as GalacticRepublic's "I'm Going Down" – not exactly the most inspiring song for a sparring match.

"Why aren't you listening to 'Bust Mine to Kick Yours'?" I yelled.

"I don't feel like listening to it," Jacen answered blithely, raucously singing along to the chorus, "Kriff yeah, I'm going _down!_" He burst out laughing as he chanted the refrain.

I shook my head, my two medals whacking me in the chest.


	3. Epilogue

I wasn't surprised when Jacen won his match. Quite the contrary. It wasn't listening to a particular song that made Jacen a better fighter; it was his self-motivation, his determination, his willpower to succeed that made him a winner. Jacen always says that the point of tournaments is not to beat everyone else, but to come away with a lesson learned. Therefore, being defeated is not the end of the world; it is, rather, a beginning, a little smack on the side of an ego-swollen noggin to remind the loser that no one is invincible. "You should learn something from every point your opponent scores on you" is what my Master says; therefore, it is logical to conclude that I learned nothing from that tournament.

But I did learn something, after all. I came away from that second tournament realizing what it took to be a "double gold girl" Not talent, not flexibility or strength – for these things I had had in the first tournament, yet I had still lost my match – but a certain mindset, a feeling of clarity and focus that you could only find within yourself. Perhaps for some, listening to an inspiring song helped them achieve that attitude, but it was not so for me or for my Master. To this day, whenever I get on my sparring gear I think of the way Jacen smiled at me when I showed him my double gold medals. Perhaps I'm not the stuff champions are made of because I am not self-motivated; I feel driven by Jacen. I find reward in making _him _happy, not me. Perhaps that feeling to constantly impress Master Palgwebb will pass in time. Or perhaps it won't.

Jacen never did listen to that, "Bust Mine to Kick Yours" song again, and I believe I know why. I think that tournament made him a better fighter also, for it showed him that he doesn't need a song to inspire him, just as I don't need to stick to a familiar style to win my division. It is not flexibility or strength, but the ability to adapt to a new technique that distinguishes the mediocre from the tournament both taught us that champions don't need security blankets; they find the inspiration they need within themselves.


End file.
